Au Revoir
by The Inkline
Summary: He knew it had been a long time in coming. He knew that it was only a matter of time. He knew Christophe's life was dangerous, so why did it hurt so much...? Christophe/Kyle, oneshot.


-1Au Revoir

Disclaimer: Don't own. :

"So, how are you doing?"

The question was innocent, driven by real, honest caring for his well-being. He knew it, but he couldn't help the hot anger that boiled up inside of him every time anyone asked him that question. He could only rein in his temper, fake a smile and shrug, knowing that if he tried to answer with words, his voice would give and more questions would follow.

Or even worse, the other person would get that concerned look in their eye, brows furrowing together in disbelief, looking at him like some poor creature to be pitied.

If there was anything that he had learned over the years, was to hate pity. Pity was reserved for people who couldn't take care of themselves, for people who couldn't move on their own two feet.

Kyle could stand on his own. That, at least, Christophe had made sure of.

Now he was sitting in the kitchen with his best friend, the darker male looking at him over a beer can. Stan always knew how to act, playing a vague indifference as if his earlier question was about the weather or how things were going at Kyle's job or some other shit. It was Stan's wife, Wendy, who would poke and prod at the real issue, getting upset when Kyle clammed up and Stan refused to help.

Wendy was under the impression, bless her heart, that he even wanted to remember what could possibly be wrong, a habit made from raising three children. It was a motherly sort of nagging, the kind where you were having trouble with a girl at school and were blue about it but sure as hell didn't want to talk about it so please stop asking me about it, mom.

He knew he shouldn't get angry with her for asking, but he couldn't help it, the still bleeding wound torn wide open again as he was forced to remember, leaving him feeling raw and vulnerable. So he got angry, if only to keep people from poking at his bloody insides once the scab was removed, and it usually worked.

Too well, really. He hadn't spoken with either of his parents in over three months now, where he used to at least call once a week Before.

Stan was still watching him, he realized, those blue eyes fixed on his own brown, waiting for an answer patiently. Kyle just smiled and nodded with a half-shrug, swallowing a few times before he opened his mouth to speak.

"Well enough. The store keeps me occupied. I don't have three hellions to distract me."

"You want one?" Stan was grinning, and Kyle couldn't help but grin back, laughing a little despite how shitty he felt.

"God, no."

"Damn. How is the store going, anyway? I heard on the news the economy was going to shit, and all these little stores are closing up."

Kyle let out a little breath of relief. He could always count on Stan to change subjects, to know when Kyle was getting too uncomfortable, to back off. He suppose it came with being inseparable for… God. How many years? Twenty? Twenty five?

He almost made a face at that. He was almost thirty three. Stan and Wendy's oldest boy would be eleven this year, and Christophe would be…

Would've been.

His heart gave a little pang, his chest constricted, but the attack was small and soon ebbed away as he put his mind to the man in front of him. Rather than the man he wanted to be in front of him.

"Nah, it's fine. No matter how crappy things get, you can always count on kids getting their parents to buy them some crappy ass toy or whatever. We don't make as much as we used too, but it's still enough."

"That's good. For a while I was wondering if Randy was the only thing keeping you afloat."

"The day I depend on your kid for anything is the day I'm stepping in front of a bus." The comment was meant to be good-natured, a joke, but his voice flattened about the third word in, and he could see Stan's mouth twitch a little to fight a concerned frown.

"I'll make sure to warn the depot. Or something." Stan smiled a bit, attempting to continue the joke, and Kyle could only smile in thanks and apology.

It happened often enough, where he would be speaking about some inane thing or another, and he would just flatten out, misery bubbling up to the surface and pouring out of his words, leaving the happy moment ruined and awkward.

"Nahh. You know Cartman would get wind of it and purposely steal one for the sole purpose of running me over."

"Point. But at least for a while he was scared off by your guard dog."

"I think seeing him run with Rose chewing up his ass was the only reason I was allowed to keep her." Kyle paused on the next thought, before swallowing, pushing forward. He needed to bring it up. Backing out of the conversation would only raise concerns. After all, a year later, he should be able to talk about it at this point. "I think Chris was still petrified of her. Any time she tried to jump up into bed he'd freak out and hole up in the bathroom for hours until I put her back downstairs."

Stan laughed, though Kyle wasn't sure if it was out of relief or humor, but he had to admit, the thought of ze Mole running scared from his own Doberman was pretty funny. He could almost hear him, those hysterical yells for Kyle to put "ze damn DOG" out of the bedroom, which Kyle simply couldn't DO because he was laughing so damn hard.

"That's not the half of it. One time he fell asleep on the couch, right, and he had been eating those garlic pita chips that he thought I didn't know he stole out of my stash, and Rose goes over to sniff at his hand. The second her nose touched him he lets out this SHRIEK and next thing I know he's literally perched on the back of the couch like some big, dirty bird and Rose is just barking away at him because she thinks he's playing."

Stan was laughing even harder, palm slamming against the wood of the kitchen table, making their cans shake with the tremors.

"Aw, man." he finally managed to gasp out, hand going up to wipe a tear from his eye, rubbing at his face in an attempt to hide his grin, "That guy was so fucked up."

"…Yeah, he was." Kyle was surprised at those words, surprised he could even say them without feeling like he was going to cry. It felt good, actually, remembering all the goofy shit the mercenary would get into, rather than the cold truth at the end of the line. Stan just sat in silence, though Kyle knew what he wanted to ask. He sighed a bit, before shrugging, one corner of his mouth jerking in the old sign of 'just do it,' and Stan sighed.

"They still haven't found it, then?"

"No. Me and Jeannette are pretty sure that's how they wanted it. The only thing they left for us was the shovel. We buried that instead."

"Jesus Christ."

"Yeah. But hell, what… what were we expecting, huh…? All the shit he got himself into…"

"He didn't like desk jobs, huh?"

"Not like I didn't try getting him one. But he would go into interviews to humor me and then make up all this crap about being a convicted sex offender or something to make sure they'd never hire him. My favorite was when he pretended to be holding a conversation with the voices in his head, right in front of the lady."

"You know, I'm not too sure he was faking that." Kyle snickered a bit at that, Stan grinning a little, probably relieved out of his mind that Kyle hadn't clammed up at the insinuation that his boyfriend had been completely insane.

"Sometimes, I wondered. Anyway, I better get back before Rose tears up the house looking for food." Kyle rose, Stan following, moving to toss the empty cans of booze into the designated recycling bin, following the redhead to the door to see him out.

"Nice seeing you. You coming to Randy's birthday?"

Kyle paused for a moment, thinking it over. Then he smiled, nodding a bit. Stan gave a grin in return, waving goodbye as the redhead walked down the driveway, the jewish man waving back before he turned to walk down the street to his own house.

Rose leapt up at him as soon as he was in the door, her stub of a tail going back and forth so forcefully that her entire backside was wagging, racing him to the kitchen where he filled her food bowl, giving her a pat on the head. He moved over to the calendar then, staring at it for a long while, one date in particular.

He took a deep breath, before uncapping the Sharpie, black line going through red letters, scratching them out and writing new ones beneath the old.

R-A-N-D-Y.

He stared at the box for a long while, more at what could still be seen of the red letters, swallowing around the lump in his throat before he shook his head.

That was enough. He was stronger than this, he knew it. Crying over some day out of the year when he should be celebrating with his best friend's family, it was pathetic. Christophe would've probably smacked him for it, voice rumbling in the way it always did when he was especially angry, telling him to stop being a whiny little bitch and grow some goddamn balls already.

He stepped away from the calendar, burying the raging monster in his chest, moving over to the telephone and lifting it up, fingers working at the dial. He listened to it ring for a long moment, before there was a click, a tired voice answering on the other end.

"'Allo?"

"Hey, Jeannette. It's me. I was thinking of a visit, and wondered if you wanted to come." He smiled, rather amazed at how easily he could talk to the woman when he nearly choked up against any other foe with ovaries.

"Zat would be lovely, Kyle." He could hear her voice lift a little bit, knowing that she probably needed the company as badly as he did, maybe more, since he wasn't sure if she really had anyone quite like Stan to make things better.

"Okay. I'll come pick you up. You want me to get the usual for you?"

"Please, and for ze love of God, child, let me pay you back for zem."

"Not a chance. See you in twenty." He smiled as he hung up, moving to give Rose another pat on the head before he was grabbing up his keys and wallet, heading out the door and climbing into the car. A quick stop at the flowershop, and he was pulling into an all-too familiar driveway, putting the car in park just as the graying brunette woman stepped out of the house, locking the door behind her.

She smiled at him, making her wrinkles all the deeper, but in an entirely pleasant way, the woman settling in the passenger seat with a little sniff, brows going together in concern.

"Kyle."

"That's not me. He smoked like a chimney in this thing, and now I can't get the smell out of it."

He handed over the bouquet of flowers, and promptly refused the bills she tried to give him in return. He smiled as she tried to force the money into his hand, the two soon laughing as they fought, the woman trying to be sneaky and slip it into his jacket pocket, only to have him block her with his hand, wailing about not being a prostitute.

It was a way to keep their minds off of where they were going, the pair soon sobering up once Kyle turned down a side road, pulling up along the curb and parking the car. They stepped out, the pair moving through the wrought iron gates, walking along the well-kept path, rows and rows of graves on either side of them. Jeannette held the flowers close to her chest the closer they got to their destination, as if trying to hold her baby boy again.

Finally, they stopped at one row, walking along the graves until they found the white marble stone, the woman sniffling a bit, brown eyes misting up as she set the flowers down in the little cup that was buried into the ground for that very purpose. Kyle knew she wouldn't cry. She hadn't done so at the funeral, she wouldn't do it now. The most he had ever seen the woman do was tear up, though she refused to let any of them fall.

He had to admire her in that respect, how absolutely strong she was despite looking so thin and frail. He watched her more than the actual grave, mostly because he knew he'd end up being the one to cry if he ever read those chiseled words spelling out his late lover's name.

They stood in silence for a long time, before the woman pressed up against his side, holding onto what had to be the only son she had left, the redhead's arm going up around her shoulders, holding her close in an attempt to both gain and give comfort.

He looked up at the sky at the sound of thunder, frowning at the grey clouds for a moment. Jeannette just laughed a bit.

"He never believed in God, and look, even He's crying." Kyle smiled a bit at that, patting at the woman's shoulder as they made their way back to the car just before the first raindrops fell. He walked the woman up to her door, the two sharing one last hug, the redhead refusing the Frenchwoman's offer of coffee or tea, instead moving back to his car and headed for home.

He parked the car, raindrops falling onto red curls and flattening them, not that he really cared, just sort of lazily digging into his pocket for his house keys. He stopped when the tumblers rolled into place, unlocking the front door, frowning. There was something wrong here, the absence of crazed Doberman barks making his blood run cold. Almost immediately, all manner of things leapt into his brain, and he yanked the key out of the door, rushing to get inside and find out what happened to his only family, rushing into the kitchen to look for his dog. Seeing her food bowl still half-full had his heart stopping, giving a little whimper as he bolted into the living room, hoping to every God in every pantheon that he still had her left, at least.

He stopped in his tracks almost immediately, not caring that he was tracking mud and dripping rainwater, not caring that he had left the front door open and rainwater was being blown into the foyer. He didn't care that anyone could just walk into his home, that he could be robbed blind in the long moments he stood in the living room, frozen in place.

Rose was sitting there, her tail wagging like crazy, giving whine after happy whine at the rough hands that were petting her, despite how badly they were shaking. She broke away from the affection to leap at Kyle, jumping up and nearly knocking him over, bolting back to the darker man still crouched at her level, going for more affections.

The man just stood instead, pushing her back as she jumped up, shoulders hunched up in obvious discomfort. Kyle just let out a choking noise, and bolted forward, latching onto that all-too-thin body, breathing in that familiar scent of smoke and dirt and blood, burying his face in the darker's chest as arms wrapped around him, holding him close.

"…Missed me…?"


End file.
